His body ached as he lifted himself from bed.
Nevil had spent twenty years on Luna. At first, he only stayed to pay the fine, acting as an extra in various films.
The fine was paid off quite fast, in fact, Nevil hadn't ever quite thought himself an actor, but his employers thought so highly of his work that they paid him extra. In total, the entire fine took less than half the expected time to pay off. He decided to stay indefinitely.
Nevil now lived in a standard apartment in the skin of the Lunar ecumenopolis.
He looked up at the ceiling with weary eyes. through the window, the sun shone down brightly, the sky was a brownish-gray from all the smoke. The stars were invisible. Just like the day he'd first come here, millions of spacecraft hovered above in low orbit, dancing around the heavens like fireflies, their reflected sunlight making each one into a little sun of its own.
The alarm blared, morning -- by the Lunar clock. In truth, it was the same time all over the planet, physical day or night mattered very little.
Nevil finally managed to get himself out of bed. And stood on his own two feet. At seventy, he was no spring chicken anymore.
He grabbed his coat, the mornings were always chilly as power would be redirected into the industrial sectors while the population slept. He darted out the door, hoping not to miss breakfast hour at the cafe.
As he groggily loped down the corridors, he could hear the loudspeakers blaring upbeat music -- a recent addition, designed to help people awaken. There were several other people already out on the same path as him. The 'skin' was the primary residential area on Luna, it was divided into individual sections that each provided equal accommodations for their citizens, each one had a cafe, a hair stylist, a library, etc... they were all equal. Nevil found this bland, but that was how it worked.
He passed individuals whom he'd known for years. They all knew his moods and didn't bother him until he'd gotten his coffee. Though they did give him quick greetings such as, "Hey Jim," and "There goes the sleepy novelist!"
The Cafeteria was a large room, painted in bright cheery colors. The latest musical hits played over the speakers. Though Nevil could've gotten food from the dispenser in his apartment, it was a cheap model that produced food that was inferior to human-made food. That was why these cafe's even existed because it had been decided by popular consensus that real food and socializing was far superior to the lonely digestion of utter crap.
Nevil ordered a hamburger and took a table. He heard a couple -- two women -- discussing his order, oddly enough.
"Did you hear him?" the first one asked, "He eats those too!"
The other one snorted, "Well, he did invent them!"
Nevil allowed himself a small chuckle. "They didn't know!" Nevil had worked as an actor for six years before retiring to become an author, and went on to write numerous critically acclaimed books about life on ancient Earth. Most thought the world he'd written to be fiction, but it was fact, built from his own memory of life on Earth... so long ago. The Hamburger had taken off again when some fan actually took the time to make one herself, she loved it, and sold the recipe to the cafe company -- with Nevil's approval, of course, he got half the revenue, she'd insisted on giving him all of it but he declined. It had taken only a few years to become a very popular item. Nevil had become the Tolkien of the Collective era, his vision of ancient Earth eclipsed all others and soon became the template design for all other novels of the 'historical fiction' genre. Perhaps his success was due to it being provably realistic. Knowledge of the past hadn't simply been lost, merely that the majority of people were ignorant of it, the reason being that it was, so called, boring. Nevil had proved them wrong. And still, nobody knew his true secret.
A young waiter arrived with his burger, and Nevil ate it slowly, relishing the taste. Like many times before, he wondered how the reconstruction of Earth was going; the robots had their orders, it was probably going fine; Nevil put it out of his mind.
By now, he was quite awake. And so too, was the world. The cafe was bustling with diners, in fact, it was full. Dozens of people were already queuing up just outside, likely cursing to themselves about how they despaired of the thought of having to eat inferior food; it was their fault, anyway. The early bird gets the worm, nowhere had Nevil gone where that wasn't the constant; it was their fault, they should've gotten up earlier!
A woman about thirtyish walked up to Nevil's table and waited for him to see her. He was too engrossed in his thoughts, and his burger, to see her. She cleared her throat to get his attention and said, "this is the only table that isn't fully stocked. May I sit here?"
Nevil looked up and saw her. Tall and thin like all Selenites, rather pretty too, but Nevil was too old for those things to matter to him. But he understood that he was hogging two chairs around a single table while only using one, he nodded assent and she sat down. "Have you made your order?" he asked. It would be a bit too late for her to do that now, if she were to get up, the force of the traffic would ensure that someone else would instantly take the seat.
"Of course," she said, "I made it before I came to you." she looked him over, "you look familiar."
Nevil laughed, "In what way? Film? Newsletter? Or on the back of a book?"
She smiled slightly, "All three, I believe. You're James Nevil, right?"
"Indeed." He swallowed the last of his burger. Since he was finished with his food, it was only common courtesy for him to get up so someone else could sit. The woman noticed it too and pulled out a notebook from her jacket. "Could I have an autograph, please?" She offered him a pen.
Nevil took the pen, and the notebook and wrote his name, plus a little message -- something motivational, the usual stuff. He then handed back the two items, grabbed his coat, and left.
Nevil returned to his apartment, the smoky sun still shone down through the skylight. But some things had changed, the bed had been made, and all the clutter put away. "Aquila?" he called out, after locking the door behind him.
The robot emerged from the closet, a simulated humanoid-form composed entirely of claytronic goo. "You rang?" It answered its voice the perfect imitation of cheerfulness, though Nevil could never fully tell whether or not it was real.
"Yes," Nevil said, "I did. I asked you to stop cleaning up the place, everybody knows I'm a slob that lives alone!"
"But, James." the robot pleaded, "It was not me, it was the maid."
Nevil was surprised, "Maid? What maid?"
"It's new, apparently. Free housecleaning, a little local service. It was in the newsletter."
"Can I opt out of it?" Nevil asked.
"I believe so," Aquila replied.
Nevil went to check the computer. Indeed, the local government of the section had instituted a service to deal with trash cleanup. Citizens could opt out of the service, but only if they cleaned up with their own two hands and delivered the garbage directly to the incinerators themselves. In short, you clean or we clean for you.
Nevil sent an email to the service asking to opt out. He was growing old and had always been kind of messy. But he had to do these things himself. "Did they see you?" he asked Aquila.
"No. I turned into a suitcase and propped myself up against the bed. They picked me up and put me on the shelf."
Well, at least they hadn't found Aquila. Nevil had found out that personal robots were banned, likely because the Collective saw them as a threat. Luckily, all robots had been removed seventy-thousand years ago, and nobody bothered to search anymore. But if Aquila were discovered... the laws still existed, openly enforced or not.
Nevil turned on the radio and listened to the broadcasts. Typical news stuff; a politician on Merope -- a planet of Trappist-1 -- died at a ripe-old age, an earthquake on Vulcan -- a planet of Proxima-Centauri -- killed twenty million people. Perhaps big things to a planet, but quite small on a galactic scale, or even a provincial scale.
Then they got to a program on history. Namely, Earth. Historians were interviewed, audio recordings from the homeworld were played back. And they spoke of what they called, 'The Loss' from their own perspective, a very interesting perspective too. Eventually, as he'd expected, they brought up fiction. How Earth had been frequently described in terms of fantasy, fantastic lands with unbelievable monsters and wonders; until Nevil published his first work and changed everything.
He turned off the radio and switched to the Holoscreen and watched a few sitcoms in sequence. Life had gotten rather boring for him. Perhaps it was coming time for him to leave.
Someone knocked on the door. Aquila darted to the closet and hid inside. Nevil, straining to move his weary limbs, got up to answer it.
It was a young man wearing a fancy suit. He nodded to Nevil in greeting. Nevil had never seen him before, likely not a member of Nevil's section. "Are you James Nevil?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I hope I'm not bothering you," he said while studying Nevil's exhausted features.
Nevil waved it off, "Not at all, these damn Holoshows aren't made like they used to." a true statement.
"May I come in?" he looked uncomfortable.
"Be my guest." Nevil replied cheerily, "My first one this week, in fact."
The stranger shyly entered the apartment and stood nervously until Nevil motioned him to take a seat.
"First off," Nevil said, "tell me your name?"
Stuttering, "My name is Hekim Thow."
"Why're you here?"
"I'm from the writing convention," Thow said. "My employers want you to attend this year."
Nevil raised an eyebrow. "And you came here personally?" His voice had become somewhat gravelly in recent years, it became even more evident when he spoke in certain tones.
The convention man fidgeted in discomfort. "They felt that you would appreciate a personal visit more than an email."
"Of course," Nevil mumbled, "who wouldn't?"
"They want to know if you'll attend." he repeated, his voice getting squeaky to a small extent.
Nevil nodded, "I will. There's nothing better to do around here anyway."
Hekim Thow's eyes widened slightly, evidently, he'd expected Nevil to decline. "Marvelous," he said, still slightly shocked, but in a positive way. "the convention starts next week, on Monday; in the section directly to the east of this one -- I don't remember its name."
"I'll be there."
Thow got up and stood somewhat shakily, "I guess I'll be going now." he said.
"Guess so."
Thow nodded and left. Nevil couldn't help but wonder how people could get so shy on a world where nobody has any real privacy.
Nevil had signed hundreds of autographs. Surprisingly, his achievements as a writer made him far prouder of himself than any of his far greater ones made prior.
All kinds of people came to greet him. Even a few provincials who had come for the very purpose of meeting him. Nevil had asked some why they bothered to skip so many years of time just to shake his hand. They had all told him of how his work had helped them in one way or another. One individual had been convinced not to commit suicide by a passage from Nevil's book, The Eagle's Final Nest:
"'And so we see,' said the Captain. 'All our eternities, passed in a blink, nothing compared to forever.' He turned to his crew, looked each one in the eye and said, 'preserve every moment you have, life is priceless. As we speak, a billion have been born and a billion have died. We have eternity, but we don't have forever.' and with his statement, he strode off the bridge. His crew mulled over his words, the ticking of the clock had gained a new meaning; the passage from birth, to dust in a grave -- no more than an instant compared to forever."
The book had been a romanticized adaptation of Nevil's own life story up to the crash of the Aquila, except in the book, everyone died; even the Captain.
He considered it remarkable that people had liked his work so much. But, perhaps the quality of literature had degraded since he'd left originally. Perhaps it was as if Doyle or Tolkien or Clarke were teleported to Nevil's era. Is it a truth that the old master is always better? That every genre has its first masterpieces, and then nothing later can compare? Can any modern mystery beat Sherlock Holmes? Can any modern fantasy beat The Lord of the Rings? Can any modern science-fiction beat Rendevous with Rama? Perhaps it is true that every genre has its golden age shortly after the very beginning, and that nobody else can make anything better than what is written by the first great writers. Perhaps it is because those writers were not only created by the genre, but the genre was created by them; their genres became shaped in their mold, and nobody can write like they can; the age of soft molds has ended, the genre has turned to stone, no new work will ever be as highly regarded as the originals, no new writer will ever unseat the old masters; such is being a writer after the first writing has been done.
Lucky for Nevil, nobody remembered the old masters. The genre was soft. And he had begun to mold it!
Thirty-one years now, he'd lived on Luna, thirty-one years. Nevil was eighty-one years old. And he'd begun to feel homesick. Not for Luna, but for Earth. It would be a good idea to leave soon anyway. A message had been sent to Taygete on Nevil's arrival at Luna, asking to confirm his citizenship given the lack of any identification and a scant cover story. Luckily, border laws within provinces were lax, so Nevil had been allowed to do as he pleased for decades. But soon, the reply from Taygete would arrive. Just a few more years until that fateful day where the authorities of Taygete firmly deny ever having had a citizen named James Nevil. The news would spread, Nevil would be arrested; his apartment would be searched, and Aquila might be found; his ship would be searched, and the pieces of the gravitic engine could be discovered and reassembled. Nevil would not wait for that day. He would leave before the scandalous transmission hit. He would leave trillions wondering who their beloved author truly was, where he'd truly come from, and where he'd truly gone.
Nevil prepared to leave. When the news got out, he was interviewed. In the interview, Nevil told them half truths; he had become homesick, he'd become bored, and he was old; his arthritic hands couldn't type like they used to, and his mind was no longer sharp enough to drive them. He was leaving, he was returning home.
Everyone had naturally concluded that home meant Taygete. This was good for Nevil. He'd already filed for it and been approved. He would leave tomorrow.
With the hands of eager fans helping him. Nevil cleared out his belongings and placed them in a shipping container to be taken aboard Excelsior. They handled every article with tenderness befitting fans whose devotion bordered on the religious. Some even begged to go with him to Taygete, hoping they might be first to get their hands on any of his final works; other, more compassionate individuals wanted to be his caretakers. Nevil told them he'd consider it. He really did consider it. After all, someone had to repopulate Earth, why not this bunch? They could help him raise the first new colonists afterward.
After considerable thought, he decided against it. They all thought they would be going to Taygete, the process of telling them the truth would be very risky. He had millions of frozen embryos available to him on Earth, and hundreds of functional growth tubes; not to mention a massive number of robots at his service. He would have no need of extra humans.
His apartment now empty, Nevil took one glance back at his home of nearly thirty years as a nurse helped him out.
The Nurse led him to the Hyperloop station, and they traveled to the Aquila's hangar cell.
They were greeted by a state delegation, the governor of Luna had arranged to attend the departure, her guards were everywhere. She extended her hand to Nevil and shook his, "I've always wanted to meet you, mister Nevil," she said. "I kept putting it off, so this is my last chance."
Nevil smiled, "Well, late is better than never."
"I guess so.." the Governor replied. "It's almost odd, though. I always imagined you as looking young like in your cover photos, or your movie appearances. I never really thought you could ever grow old, you seemed ageless."
"Nothing's ageless," he said, smiling. "Nothing lasts forever, I certainly don't."
The Governor handed him her copy of one of his books and asked him to sign it. He did.
"Good luck, Mister Nevil," she said. Then she and her guards retreated to safety, leaving the hangar cell after the last handshake. The meeting had been recorded, as was the upcoming takeoff.
Nevil climbed into the ship and closed the hatch behind him. He checked for cameras and found none. Then he put the suitcase down onto the floor, and it reshaped itself into humanoid form.
"Aquila." Nevil said, "will you please quickly reconstruct the gravitic engine."
The robot went about and grabbed all the separate parts from their hiding spots. And went back to the engine room to rebuild the drive.
Nevil took the time to check the systems. The impulse engines had been fully refueled, so he wouldn't have to reveal any gravitics in taking off. All systems were functioning nominally.
He ran his hands over the bulkheads of his veteran ship. Her hull had begun to rust in places, and cobwebs filled many corners -- apparently, nobody had bothered to remove the spiders from Luna.
"I've finished rebuilding the drive, James," Aquila reported.
The box of items from Nevil's apartment dominated space within the middle-section, leaving little to no room for free movement.
They only had to wait for the spacecraft exchange to begin.
They didn't have to wait long. Only a kilosecond before the Titanic hangar doors opened to reveal the smoky sky. Nevil gently eased the ship out of the cell using the impulse thrusters and followed the flowing current of millions of ships as they departed from the hangar for the skies.
They climbed upwards through the atmosphere, until they entered orbit, and followed the beacons into a suitable lane. Then, Nevil pulled out of the lane at his first opportunity and flew the ship away from Luna's proximity.
The artificial gravity aboard the ship had long since been lowered to Lunar levels, but Earth's natural gravity wasn't. It occurred to Nevil that he hadn't been in one-gee gravity for over three decades. He needed to figure this out.
He came to a simple solution. With the take off over, along with all the impulse burns. He ordered Aquila to build a high-grav exoskeleton to counter the effects, though he would also need to take special medication to strengthen his body for higher gravity once he got there.
Aquila immediately set to work on it. Collapsing into a gelatinous pile that slowly grew taller as the exoskeleton was built. No doubt Aquila was sacrificing many of its own catoms to build this. No matter, Nevil would let it feed off of the resources on Dagger or Earth. Aquila had the skeleton completed within a half-hour.
By this point, Excelsior had drifted far enough away from Luna that the pursuing media ship broke off and headed home. Nevil powered up the gravitic drive, and headed for Venus at relativistic speeds. Luna and its surrounding fog of traffic disappeared in a blink, and soon Venus ballooned into proximity.
Nevil had forgotten how to signal for the portal... or where it was. He handed the controls to Aquila; telling it to find the portal, open it, and go through and land.
Aquila found it in seconds, easily recalling the data. The surrounding environment zoomed by as the ship relocated itself, with precision, to the closed maw of an intergalactic Stargate.
"I'm opening it, now," Aquila said. The robot's gray fingers dashed over the panels in rapid succession. And suddenly a hole in space opened, showing the nighttime vista of Dagger at night, a fierce gust of wind came from the portal as the vacuum of the Sol system sucked out the Daggerian atmosphere.
The Excelsior charged into the wind and pushed its way through the stargate. Nevil watched as the expanse of space receded as the rugged landscape of Dagger enveloped him. They were through.
He felt a terrible pain as the gravitational pull instantly increased, intense nausea and pain. He vomited on the floor and collapsed. He managed to pull himself to the exoskeleton and insert himself into it. He flipped a switch on its control panel, and he suddenly felt a great relief as the exoskeleton countered natural gravity with an artificial gravity-field and reduced it to Lunar gee.
Aquila closed the portal quickly. The hole in space instantly vanished.
Nevil took the controls, and gently lowered the ship onto the ground with impulse thrusters. There was a slight thump, and they were down.
He checked the external sensors. And found that the temperatures had risen significantly, but within tolerable levels still. The pressure, too, had increased, but not beyond tolerance -- on the mountaintop, the lowlands were likely uninhabitable.
He donned his mask and breathing gear. Then he opened the hatch and stepped outside. The air was thick and soupy, likely between two and three bars of pressure. The temperature was high, close to forty-five degrees Celsius. The Earth Memorial stood strong nearby, the portal airlock was just outside it, Nevil made a dash into the airlock and closed it behind him once Aquila had entered as well. Then he opened the portal.
There was a whoosh, as the thick Daggerian air rushed out into the comfortably thin atmosphere of Earth. Nevil stepped through the portal and looked around.
The skies were the usual gray-blue he'd remembered. And the sun was still bright red and dim. But what got his attention most of all, were the trees. Thousands of trees extending into the distance. The ground was covered in untamed grass. Gnats fluttered in the air, a mosquito buzzed his face, and two squirrels chased one another around the trunk of a tree.
Nevil knew he'd come home. He peeled off the mask and took a deep breath. He could see his estate in the distance, and several robots coming to greet him. Yes, he was home.